breathe deep and suffocate
by coffeeflavoredkisses
Summary: Sam calls it an anxiety disorder. Dean thinks 'disorder' makes it sound too obstinate. [Sequel to don't hold your breath]


**A/N: Hey! I'm sorry if any of you guys tried to read this before and the text was all messed up- I have no idea what happened! And of course I didn't noticed until hours after I posted it. The prequel is fixed as well. Sorry for any inconvenience.**

The thing no one knows about Dean Winchester is that his world is unexpectedly fragile.

It's not because his rather exceptional strength is a mask for his emotional weakness, or because his calm, cool and collected exterior is a cover for his fucked up head and his worried heart.

No, it's because his little brother is unexpectedly fragile, in ways that no one but Dean will ever see. And his little brother is his entire world.

Sam's fragility lies in the way he can't breathe sometimes, the way his chest gets tight and his head spins, lightheaded from a combination of the lack of air and some feeling Dean doesn't fully understand. The closest he can come to describing it is _panic_.

Regardless of what it's called (Sam calls it an anxiety disorder. Dean thinks 'disorder' makes it sound too obstinate.), Dean would just like to never have to deal with it again, thank you very much. It's almost okay when he knows to be ready for them. Like when Dad comes back to the motel almost bleeding out at one in the morning and the two of them have to stitch him up themselves, Dean knows that the moment Dad passes out on couch Sam will be on his knees in the bathroom throwing up his meager dinner and struggling for breath. Or when Dad tells them to get a good night's sleep because they're moving on in the morning, Dean knows Sam will wake up at least once in the middle of the night with tears running down his face and his breath caught in his throat.

The real bad ones are the ones Dean isn't prepared for. Like when Sam texts him during fifth period to meet him in the second floor boys' bathroom because he got a C on an essay he thought he did well on and now he can't breathe right. Or the ones like right now, when Dean goes out to grab dinner and he comes back to find no sign of Sam in the room but for the sound of his gasping sobs echoing out the open bathroom door.

"Shit, Sammy." he sighs, dumping the bag of take-out on the room's rickety table and heading straight for the bathroom. He's a pro at this by now, knows just what Sam needs from him and that the worst thing to happen will be Sam passing out either during the attack from lack of air or right after from exhaustion, but he can't help the way his own panic kicks in at seeing Sam in pain or the way his heart breaks seeing the kid in tears.

He knows how to fake a practiced calm, though, how to keep his heartbeat steady and his breathing even for Sam to sync up to.

He stops at the threshold just for a moment, sees Sam bent over the sink and staring at himself in the mirror, taking exaggerated breaths that aren't doing anything but being broken apart by the sobs he's trying to force down. His lips are moving quickly, and when Dean moves a little closer he can hear him muttering, "It's fine, you're fine, you're… you're being fucking ridiculous, fuck, just _breathe_-"

"Sammy." Dean cuts him off there, because Sam berating himself is only going to serve to work him up more. Sam whirls around, face a mixture of stricken and ashamed because no matter how much Dean tells him there's nothing to worry about, that this doesn't make him weak, Sam can't stop telling himself the opposite.

And then the worst thing happens, Sam's face just _crumbles_. He stumbles forward a little, head dropping down to fall on Dean's shoulder and his arms winding around Dean's waist to cling hard. Dean accepts the embrace easily, turning his head to press a kiss to the side of Sam's, folding the kid in until he's completely enveloped.

(Sam's still small enough to do that, he's sixteen and wiry and tall and getting taller, but he's still small enough to do that. Dean doesn't want to think about the day Sam will outgrow him completely.)

"D'n-" It's choked out and unintelligible, but Dean knows what he needs, always knows what Sam needs.

"Shh, it's okay Sammy. You're fine, just gotta breathe. Can you breathe for me, sweetheart?" The words are murmured into Sam's ear while Dean sways them slightly, side to side, and Sam's tense muscles relax just that much more at the pet name. Sam nods into Dean's neck, fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively in the back of Dean's shirt as he tries to breathe in.

Dean feels Sam's nails dig into his back when his lungs don't cooperate, and he strokes his hand down Sam's back. "Come on now, you're gonna be okay. Breathe with me, okay? Look. In-" Dean gives an exaggerated inhale, letting his chest push against Sam's when he feels his brother doing the same. "- and now out. Good, you're doing good."

Dean keeps up the rhythm, and eventually Sam pulls his face back from where it was pressed into Dean's neck. His breathing is still following the rhythm Dean set for them both, but his eyes don't look any less panicked and his chest is still hitching with held back sobs. Dean leans forward and presses their foreheads together, keeping his eyes open to stare calmly into Sam's.

"I know it's hard, Sammy, but you're doing so good. Keep breathing with me, okay?" He angles his face just a little closer, so their noses are brushing together with ever slight movement and Sam can feel Dean's breath on his lips. The trapped look in Sam's eyes recedes just enough.

"Dean. Dean, 'm sorry." Sam whispers the words straight into Dean's mouth, and Dean shakes his head, nose rubbing against Sam's gently and making the corners of Sam's lips twitch upward.

"Shh. It's fine, you're fine." Sam nods, breath hitching a little, and Dean presses a kiss to his wet cheek. He brings up a hand to wipe the moisture away, and Sam turns his face to kiss his palm.

"I'm okay." Sam mutters, tilting his face down and staring at the floor.

Dean just ducks down a little and kisses him gently. Says softly, "Yeah, sweetheart, you are."

Sam huffs a laugh and shakes his head. "No, I meant-"

"I know what you meant, Sammy."

Sam just sighs and moves forward again, probably intending to fold into Dean's embrace and close his eyes and damn near fall asleep standing up. Dean just moves with him, tugging him back until they hit the closest bed and fall onto it together, scooting up until he's sitting against the headboard and Sam is curled against his side. When they're settled, his arms tightly around his little brother and Sam's head on his chest, Dean presses his lips against the top of Sam's head and waits.

After a few minutes go by of Sam's breathing getting deeper and deeper, as if he's about to fall asleep, Sam reluctantly answers the unasked question. "… I had a big test today in pre-calc. Looking back, I… I don't think it went too well."

Dean sighs and doesn't push for more, because all that would do is work Sam up again. Instead he just says, "Either way, you're gonna be fine."

"I know that. I just…"

"You don't have to explain, kiddo."

"I'm sorry." Sam's voice sounds small and frustrated, and Dean's heart aches.

"Don't be. Just take a nap, huh? I'll wake you up in an hour for dinner." Dean smoothed a hand through Sam's hair as his little brother curled in closer and settled in himself, knowing he wasn't going to be moving for an hour.

"Thanks, Dean." The words are half lost in a yawn. Sam turned his head and pressed a kiss right over Dean's heart, though, so he thinks he got the message.


End file.
